Darkenss, Lies, and Betrayal
by Cheyenne Dancer
Summary: What promises does the One Ring make to Boromir? Implied non-con. This is an A/U. It was originally written as a one-shot, I caved to fan requests and added more chapters at a later date, however the multi-chapter version was never finished and is not compatible with 's rules. I've erred on the side of caution by using the "T" rating.


Darkness, Lies and Betrayal

By Cheyenne Dancer

Legolas stood upon the banks of the clear stream, stillness wrapped about him like a kingly mantle. A soft breeze played among the tree leaves, whispering of things deep hidden. Strange though the trees were this close to Mordor, still Legolas could hear their secrets. There was a shadow in the forest and it was growing, dark and near. It touched Legolas with the chill dread of a Nazgûl.

None of these things showed upon his face, placid in its expression as he listened to Aragorn's words. The Dúnadan planned to scout the area and wanted Legolas to hurry with the gathering of wood and water, so that he might pay special care to the little ones. Watching the Dúnadan with the fathomless ancient gaze of the elves, Legolas gave him a brief nod of assurance.

Yet, as the Ranger left the small clearing, did Legolas' eyes betray him with a deep yearning. The youthful elf could no more keep his gaze from lingering upon the broad back of the Heir to Isildur than he could refuse to breathe. It hurt to be so near to the Man, like the ice of a Morgul blade twisting deep within his heart. Aragorn belonged to Arwen. He would be King and have a King's duties and a King's obligations. He would need an heir. And all knew it. Legolas most of all, for was he not a King's son, himself?

The young elf shook his head, pushing a stray strand of sun-touched hair behind the delicate upswept tip of his ear. With an almost visible effort, he reached deep within himself, touching the heart of the forest, attempting to draw comfort and peace from the green growing things thriving around him. Little peace could be garnered in the dark whispers. Whispers of black blood and twisted shapes moving, moving, and coming ever closer.

It was more than a moment before Legolas realized that he was no longer alone. With the calm of long practice, he pushed the welter of confusing emotions back into a dark corner deep within his mind. Turning, he berated himself for his preoccupation, masking his expression behind a cool collected facade.

Deep and harsh like the warning drums deep in the bowels of Moria, Boromir's voice cracked across the clearing, chasing the twittering insects into silence. "It will do you no good, you know."

The elf's fierce blue eyes regarded the Man solemnly. "I do not know of what you speak."

Snorting, Boromir took a couple of steps closer to where the elf was perched precariously upon a boulder jutting into the stream. It near took Boromir's breath away, to see the breeze tugging at Legolas' long gilded locks, the tips of his ears framed by loose braids. Sun dappled the slender elf as if reluctant to slip below the horizon without kissing those fair features.

Boromir itched to clasp that golden glow tight to his body, to take the elf and make him his. Two more steps and the man held both his hands outspread from his sides, open-palmed to show peaceful intent. A patented look of disbelief graced Boromir's over-pretty petulant features.

"Do you seek to lie to me? Or to yourself?"

If possible, Legolas grew even more still. Like a statue carved from the marble of Rivendell, the only thing giving him life the furious glitter of his eyes. His intense gaze locked upon Boromir.

"You speak in cloaked riddles, Man."

Storm gray eyes studied the elf, unconvinced. Boromir took the last few steps necessary to bring him within touching distance of the Prince of Mirkwood Forest. Like a supplicant before a god, he looked up into unbelievable beauty. Beauty tore at his heart with the razor-clawed talons of the Crebain and left him burning and scarred.

"It matters not to me. I merely seek to understand why you would torment yourself so." Boromir could not resist staring at the elf, drinking in every detail of the slim body perched above him.

The elf had attracted him ever since Rivendell, since before he had stood before Boromir in arrogant challenge at the Council of Elrond. The fire of that challenge and the steadfast loyalty behind Legolas' words in defense of that misbegotten Ranger had smote Boromir with the power of a dwarven hammer striking an anvil.

The wind teased gold hair that framed a face untouched by age. The elf's skin was pale as any noble lady's, delicately upswept ears were framed by intricately knotted braids. Lashes dark and lush the like of which any maid would envy surrounded eyes so deep a blue they were reminiscent of the storm tossed waters of the Bay of Belfalas.

And Legolas' body! Boromir felt he could lift his voice in song to the sweet slender muscled body of his obsession. He had come across Legolas but once, unawares while he bathed, and had been arrested by the long strong line of muscle that rippled down the elf's back. When Legolas had leaned backward to rinse his hair in a fall of water, Boromir had been given the gift of viewing the elf's slender body. Like a boy, the elf was hairless. Legolas had stood caressed by the cool waters of the fall. Droplets spattering the pale flesh and kissing pale rose colored nipples.

It would have taken a stronger man, it would have taken a god to resist following the droplets down the slope of Legolas' perfect flesh. And Boromir had never thought himself to number among the Kings of Old, much less ancient deities. He had hungrily absorbed every exposed inch of the elf, not regretting for a moment the invasion into this most private of moments. His eyes had been riveted by the elf's slender sex. Narrower than a man's penis, it had nevertheless stood proudly between his thighs, guard to the soft testicles drawn up tight to his body from the chill of the water. When Legolas had made to wade out of the waters tumbling about him, Boromir had fled.

The surging fire between his legs matched only by the relentless thudding of his heart and the burning of his face, lest the elf spot the son of the Steward of Gondor gawking at him like some puerile youth.

The stillness of the elf belied his power. Boromir could sense it in the way he stood, sleek and ready like a great hunting cat, eyes alert. He searched the calm gaze and felt rage and desire flood through him. He desperately wanted to strike fire from this being carved of cold marble. He wanted to taste the sweet sweat dripping across his abdomen as he licked his way from one pink nipple to the other, leaving bruises upon the pale flesh as he traveled lower.

He wondered if he could make the elf lose control - to see Legolas undone and writhing, begging for his, _his_ touch! Clenching his fists tight against his side, lest he strike out too soon, desire colored anger forced words unbidden from tightly closed lips.

"He cannot give you his heart, Legolas. He has all ready given his love to the Lady Arwen. There is no hope for you, there. Would you give yourself over to a broken heart and pine for lack of his love? I do not wish to see you dead!"

Blue flame leapt deep within the elf's eyes, like unto that found deep within a rare jewel. A nameless emotion raced across the smooth boyish face before being swallowed by the unnatural quiet that Legolas gathered about himself like a shield. Energy crackled about the preternaturally quiet Sylvan creature, power radiated from him in dire warning. A spasmodic clenching of one long fingered hand was tantamount to a cry of rage.

Still, Legolas' eyes betrayed him. Ancient though they may be, they shone with the sorrow of young love unrequited.

Cloaked in the glory of his dignity, Legolas' musical voice carried coolly throughout the clearing. "I do not know why you say these things to me, Son of Gondor."

A shadow fell across Boromir's face and he glanced away for a moment, before he returned to his study of the woodland elf. "What did the ring offer you?"

Legolas blinked at this unexpected change of subject, though he welcomed it. "It matters not." A cool warning threaded Legolas' tones as he leapt from the boulder, pushing past Boromir.

Grasping Legolas' arm, Boromir used the elf's momentum against him and swung the slim body around to face him once again. His gray eyes flashed. "It matters to me."

Drawing himself up regally, Legolas glanced pointedly down at the fingers wrapped about his bicep, turning a cool-eyed gaze back to the Man. "It has nothing to do with you, Son of Gondor."

Even in the lilting tones of the elf, his title sounded like an epithet. Snarling, Boromir tightened his grip, "I think it does! Why will you not answer me? I am not your enemy! I only seek to befriend you!"

If Legolas had been human, he might have rolled his eyes. He spoke slowly as if to a child, "It matters not because I have passed the test." With a hint of exasperation, Legolas spoke carefully, "Release me. Night comes quickly and I have duties to attend. As do you."

A flush colored Boromir's cheeks and his eyes sparkled with dark promise. His voice resonated deeply as he spoke to the elf, "Do you not wish to know what thing was held before me? What temptation the ring thought I would answer to?"

With an impatient tug, Legolas pulled his arm from Boromir's grasp. His voice a cruel slap to Boromir's pride. "I care not."

Angrily, Boromir reached out, halting Legolas move to leave, once more. "You should."

Turning to face the man, the heat of his gaze flashing in barely restrained fury, Legolas replied coldly. "If it will end your ceaseless debate, Son of Gondor, then enlighten me that I may return to my duties."

"Can you not even say my name, Legolas? Do you disregard me so greatly? What have I done to cause you such offense that you avoid me and taunt me?"

Legolas shifted uncomfortably. It was not that he despised the Steward's son, but the man stared after him constantly. Boromir shadowed his very steps and often raised argument on every small thing. The Man was a thorn in the side of the Fellowship and Legolas could not rid himself of the feeling that a darkness moved to overtake the Son of Gondor.

No longer attempting even the semblance of civility, Legolas skewered the human male with his piercing gaze. "Boromir. Tell to me what the ring did offer you. What temptation has put you in such foul mood? What then, is your heart's desire?"

Boromir raised his sword callused palm to Legolas face, cupping the elf's cheek. The Man's voice carried a dark lust that Legolas had been too preoccupied with his own burdens to note.

He stared back at Boromir, an uncomprehending denial swiftly flowing through him. Rough fingers stroked his smooth cheek and Boromir's smile was not reassuring.

The Man's voice was thick with want when he answered him. "I think you know."

"You forget yourself, Boromir!" Legolas knocked Boromir's hand away from him and ducked beyond his reach.

Before either could address the other, a clash of many swords could be heard and shouts of discovery. Aragorn's voice was lifted upon the wind, crying out to Elendil and Elbereth. Indistinct words followed and then a clear call for help, "Treachery! Orcs! Legolas! Boromir!"

Legolas spun away from Boromir and so failed to notice the man step behind him. In the elf's concern for his companions, he ignored the threat left unanswered behind him.

A loud crack of a twig from behind was all the warning Legolas had, and then a white hot flash of pain seemed to expand before his eyes. Legolas' bow fell from suddenly numbed fingers and he stumbled to his knees with a pained cry.

Boromir hovered above him, his sword clutched in his hand. Awareness fled and Aragorn's name trembled upon his lips as darkness overtook him.

Stooping over the unconscious elf, Boromir ran his fingers tenderly over the smooth beardless cheek. He tucked the loosened strands of Legolas' hair behind the delicate pointed tip of one of the elf's ears. Boromir allowed his fingers to linger, touching with a gentleness belied by the heat in his eyes.

A distorted smile hovered unpleasantly about his lips. His voice was filled with dark loathing and twisted desire. "And so the Fellowship fails. And the White City shall fall. And I-I will be puppet to Sauron. But all is not lost, for you-you shall be by my side, willing or no."

So saying, Boromir lifted the Legolas' lithe body into his arms with ease. He carefully cradled the elf's head against his broad chest. Setting his mouth in a grim, determined line, he strode off in the direction of their camp, to see what had become of the rest of his companions.


End file.
